


Getting Trapped

by Persiflage



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Comfort Food, Couch Sex, Daisy is the Greatest Whichever Universe She's In, Elevators, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerfucking, Oral Sex, POV Skye | Daisy Johnson, Sad Sexy Baby Deer Phil Coulson, Skye | Daisy Johnson-centric, Teacher!Coulson is Hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 23:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11428275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: AU: Phil and Daisy live in the same apartment block but don't really know each other until they get trapped in an elevator together.





	Getting Trapped

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/gifts).



> I saw a list of apartment-related AUs, and this one caught my eye.

"Well this is fun," Daisy says after a few minutes of awkward silence while the elevator remains stationary.

"Yeah." The other occupant, an older guy whose name is Phil she thinks, sounds kind of strained. She doesn't really know him, although she's taken the elevator with him up to or down from their top floor apartments several times a week since he moved into her building a few months ago.

"Are you okay?" she asks. He's got a white knuckle grip on his briefcase and every muscle in his body seems to be tense.

He swallows, the sound loud in the silence of the stilled elevator. "B-bit claustrophobic," he says with a slight stutter.

"How can I help?" she asks immediately. 

He looks startled, as if the idea of someone wanting to help him is alien, and well, she gets that – gets it very much, in fact. "Not sure," he says tersely.

"Do you want to sit down?" she asks, and gestures at the floor. He's wearing a very nice pale grey suit today (not that she keeps track of his suits, or not exactly, but she does like this one), and she's not sure if he wants to risk messing it up. On the other hand, it's Friday evening so he should be able to get it cleaned before he goes to work on Monday.

He nods, so she moves closer to him, then places a hand carefully on his right forearm. 

"Is this okay?" He nods again, so she slides her hand up to his elbow, then persuades him to sit down. Then she fishes in her messenger bag and pulls out an unopened bottle of water. "Here," she says. "This might help."

He takes it from her, but struggles to open it, so she eases it from his hands and cracks it open, then passes it back. "You must think I'm pathetic," he says, looking ashamed.

"Of course not," Daisy says immediately. "Why would I think that? You can't help your claustrophobia. Same as I can't help my arachnophobia. We all have our demons." She lightly bumps her shoulder against his in an attempt at solidarity, and his expression lightens a bit.

"You're very nice," he tells her, and that makes her duck her head – she doesn't get many compliments and they always embarrass her.

"Thank you. You seem pretty nice, too."

"Phil." He says, sticking out his hand, and she chuckles softly, then shakes it.

"Daisy."

"You're in the apartment across the hall from me, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"So what do you do, when you're not befriending claustrophobes in the elevator?"

She chuckles again, liking his sense of humour. "I volunteer part time at the local orphanage, and work from home the rest of the time."

He looks at her very intently. "You must really like children," he says quietly, his gaze admiring. "Not many people would volunteer in an orphanage."

"I know," she says. "I grew up in one, between foster families."

"I'm so sorry." He says it with great sincerity – as if he's personally responsible for her childhood, and she hopes she's not going to blush. "I lost my father when I was 9, but I had my mother until I was in my early 20s. I can't imagine growing up never knowing my parents, though."

"I survived," she says.

"I think you must have done more than survive," he tells her. "You're pretty amazing."

"Phil," she says, protesting, because after all, he hardly knows her.

He seems to realise that she's uncomfortable with his praise, because he changes the subject – beginning to tell her about his students as he reveals he's a history teacher and basketball coach at the local high school.

They talk about teaching and sports, although Daisy isn't that big a sports fan, and from there drift into discussing music and movies and books.

By the time the elevator jerks back into life three hours later, they're fast friends, and as they exit the metal box Phil invites her to have dinner with him. 

When she hesitates, he clasps her hand and says, "Please say yes, Daisy. I want to thank you properly for keeping me calm, for helping me to avoid having a full blown panic attack."

"Sure," she says, because if she doesn't say yes, it'll just be the leftovers from last night's takeout for dinner tonight as she's too tired to begin a meal from scratch. "Thanks."

He smiles, evidently very pleased. "I'd like to grab a shower and change first, so shall we say 30 minutes?"

Daisy nods and is surprised, yet somehow unsurprised, when, just outside her apartment door, he leans in and presses his lips to her cheek. She bites her bottom lip, wondering how much she should read into that kiss. For the sake of her own sanity, she decides that it's not that meaningful – and that her crush will soon go away: it's just the side effect of spending 3 hours trapped in a small space with a cute guy who's clearly very kind and patient, judging by some of the anecdotes he recounted about his students.

She lets herself into her apartment, drops her messenger bag onto the couch, then walks through into her bedroom. She strips off the jeans, tank, and button down shirt she's been wearing all day, dumping them into the laundry hamper, then she moves into her bathroom and takes a fast shower. She does her best not to think about Phil in _his_ shower, just across the hall: he seems, as far as she can tell under that suit, to be compact, well-muscled, and very fit, and she thinks it might be fun to watch him playing basketball with his students – she has a feeling she'd enjoy the sight of him in his basketball gear.

She flushes and runs the shower cold in an effort to cool herself down before she climbs out and towels off, then goes back into her room to get dressed. She checks the time on her phone and decides that she'll have to make a quick decision about what to wear because she doesn't have much time to spend on choosing clothes. She stares into her closet for a long moment, then grabs a pair of cargo pants and pulls on a clean white tank, before adding a heavy knit sweater that her friend Trip, who also works at the orphanage, gave her for Christmas, which had been knitted by his grandmother.

She puts on a little makeup, mainly in an effort to disguise how tired she is, then she looks in her kitchen cabinets for something she can give Phil as a thank you for dinner. She spots an unopened pack of Little Debbie snack cakes – the 'cosmic' ones – and recalls his admission that he has a sweet tooth, so she grabs them, then wanders across the hall to knock on his door.

He opens the door and she thinks she might melt at the sight of him: he looks utterly delicious in a pair of stonewash denims, and a cream-coloured sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

"Hey," he says, with a soft smile, making him look even sexier.

"Hey," she says.

He steps back and gestures for her to enter, and she steps over the threshold, then holds out the pack of snack cakes. 

"This is to say thanks for having me over," she tells him.

"Daisy," he says in a chiding tone. Then he shakes his head, accepts the cakes, and with his hand lightly pressing against her lower back, he guides her down the hallway to the kitchen. "I hope you don't mind eating in here. My dining table's covered in school paperwork, and – "

"It's fine, Phil," she says immediately. "I either eat at the kitchen table, or on the couch in front of the TV."

He chuckles softly. "Good." He puts the snack cakes on the counter, then ushers her into a seat. "I should've thought to ask if you had any allergies or dietary restrictions."

"Nah, I will eat pretty much whatever you give me." She blushes as she realises how that might sound, and he smirks, which should definitely come with a health warning, she feels.

"In that case, please take a seat and I'll serve."

She takes a seat at the table which is positioned in front of a window that looks out over the park, and he brings over two bowls of heavenly smelling soup, plus a plate holding buttered chunks of a baguette. 

"This soup smells great," she tells him as he takes a seat across the corner of the table from her.

"Thanks. It's uh – it's a Coulson family recipe, actually: my paternal grandmother taught me to make it during the winter when I was 10."

She takes a careful spoonful, and tries not to moan too obviously as the mix of spices and tomatoes hits her tongue. "It tastes great, too," she tells him, and grabs a hunk of bread to accompany the soup.

"I'm glad you like it," he says, and begins to eat.

They don't talk much as they eat, but the silence feels companionable to Daisy, and she can't help thinking it's a little weird that she feels so comfortable and at ease with Phil despite the fact they only properly met a few hours ago.

He follows the soup with a pasta and steamed veggies dish that is equally enjoyable and she can't help asking, "Why aren't you a chef with your own restaurant?"

He gives her an amused look. "I enjoy cooking too much to want to spend all my time doing it. I always felt that if I was a chef, I'd eventually come to hate cooking. Plus, I love teaching –it can be very rewarding."

She nods. "That makes sense."

"What about you? Do you cook?"

She shakes her head. "Barely. I had a foster mother who taught me how to make chocolate chip cookies, but I didn't have much opportunity to learn – and after I left the orphanage, at 16, I spent a handful of years sleeping on the floors or couches of my friends for weeks or a few months. That is, until I got my van."

"You lived in a van?" he asks, and although his tone isn't judgemental, Daisy can nevertheless tell that Phil's a bit horrified at this revelation.

"Believe me, my van was a definite step up from floors and couches. But it wasn't designed for cooking – I had a basic camping stove that I could use to heat things, but no actual stove."

"Having an apartment of your own must seem like a real luxury," he observes. 

"It is," she agrees.

"So how did you manage to move from a van to an apartment? If you don't mind me asking."

"I don't mind," she tells him, even though this is not the sort of thing she discusses with people she barely knows. "I'm kinda scary good with computers – and once a quarter Stark Industries has an event where they invite people to try to hack Stark's security system – it's a way for them to check their computer security is good, but also to recruit new blood to the company. 18 months ago I won an embarrassing amount of money by almost cracking Stark's system – I got closer than anyone else by a wide margin. I had an interview with Tony Stark himself and he offered me a job. I refused it, but I accepted the prize money and used it to get myself an apartment. Because of all the publicity, I now do a lot of computer security work, getting paid to consult on how to ensure systems can't be cracked. I donate a proportion of my salary to the orphanage because the jobs earns me far more than I can spend, and the orphanage always needs more money."

"I was right," Phil says, his expression soft and admiring.

"About what?" Daisy asks before swallowing the last mouthful of her food.

"You are amazing."

She feels a blush heating her face and squirms slightly in her chair. "Thanks." She looks over at him. "I think you're pretty amazing, too." She's somewhat amused when he blushes too, and thinks that maybe they're both ridiculously shy.

"Will you stay for coffee?" he asks, and she agrees readily, not quite ready to part company with him just yet.

"Why don't you make yourself comfortable in the other room?" he suggests as he gets up and carries their plates over to the dishwasher. He looks startled when he turns and finds Daisy beside him with their empty wineglasses, and she sets them on the counter, then clasps his elbow and leans in, her mouth hovering over his.

"Daisy," he says, his voice a low growl. Then he wraps a hand around the back of her neck and guides her face closer, kissing her with assurance.

She presses her body into his and he wraps his left arm around her as she loops her arms loosely over his shoulders and kisses him again. "Phil," she murmurs, then moans when he nips at her bottom lip. She can feel her arousal building and kisses him harder as she shifts her body against his so that his thigh is pressing against her core. 

He moans when she grinds her sex against him, and his mouth slides down her neck, nipping and nuzzling at her flesh as she swiftly drives herself to a climax.

"Fuck," she mutters, now rather embarrassed by her forwardness. "I'm – "

"Daisy." He says her name firmly, as if he senses she's going to apologise. "That was very hot."

"Really?" she asks.

"Trust me," he says. He guides her right hand against his crotch and she traces her fingers around the shape of his obvious arousal.

"Do you have any condoms?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "I haven't needed them for a long time. Sorry."

"It's fine," she tells him, and drags his zipper down, then sinks to her knees in front of him, and he utters a loud, incoherent cry as she draws his rampant erection from his pants and laps at the head.

It's been quite a while since she gave a blow job, but she doesn't think she's forgotten the mechanics of it, and to judge from Phil's moans and repetitions of her name, she is doing a reasonably good job.

They kiss some more after he's climaxed, and she gets the impression he really enjoys the taste of himself on her mouth.

They pull apart eventually, and he repeats his offer of coffee, which she accepts, before tucking his flaccid cock inside his pants for him. 

They drink their coffee cuddled up together on the couch, and once it's finished, Phil begins kissing her again. After a little while, he sneaks his hand inside her pants, and she moans when he slides a finger down her still slick slit.

"Is this okay?" he asks.

"It's great," she tells him, and he smirks, then pushes his finger into her, and she moans when he adds a second finger and begins to work her up to another climax. After she comes, he pulls his fingers free and sucks them clean, then smirks at her, and she feels a bit dizzy and breathless at the sight of that smirk.

"I want to taste you," he says, and she moans, then starts trying to get her pants off. He chuckles, then assists her, tossing them and her panties onto the floor, before dragging his tongue up her inner thigh.

"Phil." She groans as he blows a brief burst of air across her sex, then he lifts her legs, draping them over his shoulders before he buries her face between her thighs, and she gasps, moans, and stutters his name as he eats her out, driving her to her most intense climax of the evening.

"Fuck, Phil," she gasps breathlessly once he finally pulls back and lowers her legs gently down to the couch. She grabs his shoulder and tugs him down to kiss him, biting at his lip and sucking on his tongue. He's hard again, which is a bit of a surprise in some respects, and she can't help wishing he had some condoms in because she really wants him to fuck her now.

"Are you sure you haven't got any condoms?" she asks a little plaintively.

He sits up straighter, frowns, then gets off the couch, moving awkwardly, she notices – which isn't surprising given the size of his boner, then rummages in his briefcase for a few moments. He turns back to her, smirking, and shows her two foil packets. 

"I forgot a couple of the boys were throwing these around in the classroom this afternoon," he tells her, and she raises her eyebrows. He shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed. "Teenage boys are the worst."

"Or the best," she says, snickering, and he blushes, then nods. 

"Shall we get more comfortable?" he suggests, and she decides that a bed would definitely be a better place to fuck. She scoops up her pants and panties, and follows him as he leads the way into his bedroom.

"I don't do this normally," she tells him, suddenly wanting him to know that she's not the type of girl to bang a guy she barely knows.

"Me either," he says, "but – "

"Exactly," she says, nodding. She knows what he means even if it's not something that either of them can easily articulate. She'd felt an instant connection to him in the elevator earlier – as if she'd known him forever.

They quickly get undressed, or finish undressing in Daisy's case, then Phil rolls on one of the condoms, before climbing onto the bed beside her. She's already sprawling across the middle of the bed, waiting for him.

"Are you okay with me on top?" he asks, and she nods eagerly. He nods back, then moves over her, and she clasps his cock, guiding it into her. They both moan as he stretches and fills her, pushing in deep until he can't move any further.

"Fuck," he mutters once he's buried to the hilt. "You feel good."

"You too," she assures him, and he gives her a really sweet smile, then begins to move, thrusting relatively slowly at first until she tightens her muscles around him, which makes him chuckle before he speeds things up.

Afterwards they sprawl together on the bed, legs entangled, and Daisy's head resting on Phil's left shoulder. He's lightly stroking his fingertips up and down her upper arm, and it's so soothing she thinks she should warn him that she might asleep right here.

"I don't mind," he says, sounding pleased at the idea. "But if you want to go back to your own apartment, I'd understand."

She shifts against him a little. "I think I'd much rather stay here and fall asleep in your arms," she tells him.

"Good," he says with quiet emphasis. He clasps her arm for a moment, before resuming his stroking, and she feels her whole body beginning to relax. It's the best feeling in the world, she decides sleepily.

"G'night, Phil."

"Goodnight, Daisy." She feels him relaxing beside her and smiles softly. If she knew who to thank for the elevator breaking down, she'd thank them for doing her and Phil a good turn, she thinks muzzily.


End file.
